


(one) more time

by mydearmoon



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26049013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydearmoon/pseuds/mydearmoon
Summary: Post Season 3.It’s Rio’s turn to clean up his mess. It’s harder this time around.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 27
Kudos: 248





	1. Part 1

Rio’s got Marcus for the week, while Rhea is out of town to take care of a sick aunt. Marcus grins big when Rhea drops him off.

“And _no_ work while I’m here - right, Dad?” Marcus asks after wildly kicking off his shoes. The hope and eagerness in the little boy’s voice is impossible to miss. His dark floppy hair falls over his eyes, long overdue for a trim. 

Ever since Rio returned from what he called “a really important, giant emergency work trip,” Marcus, typically a pretty independent child, had developed some clingy and nervous habits around Rio. Anytime Rio was in charge of school drop-off, Marcus would resist leaving the car until Rio was practically pushing him out. Even once he was out of the car, he’d walk as slow as could be towards the front doors, looking back over his shoulder multiple times.

“He’s just worried you’ll disappear again,” Rhea had explained, when Rio finally brought it up to her one day.

Rio hadn’t said anything in reply then, just clenched and unclenched his jaw, and drank his green tea quietly. He wondered if its benefits extended to removing toxic, damaging people from his life, too. Maybe. 

* * *

So as Rio looks down at his son, who is practically buzzing with excitement at the idea of having a whole week together, he smiles back and wishes he could assure him that it’s gonna be nonstop fun and nonsense, just the two of ‘em. Even skip a day or two of school. 

But there’s work that’s gotta be done and he ain’t gonna lie about it now. Rio pushes back the mess of hair from Marcus’s face. 

“Just a li’l bit of work, pop. We gotta get you a haircut, though.” 

Marcus’s face falls immediately, eyes darkening and pushing his bottom lip out in a way that reminds Rio of himself, because shit, kids are always _watching_. Marcus starts to complain, pitches his voice high and talks about how Rio is _always working_ and _never wants to play_ , but after a beat, he catches himself without any prompting and snaps his mouth closed. To accompany the change in mood, he launches himself at Rio and gives him a tight hug around the waist. 

“Okay, Dad!” Marcus agrees brightly. Just as quickly, he releases Rio and races for his room, his attention already starting to dart elsewhere. 

Rio can hear Marcus loudly going through his bucket of toys, “Dad! Dad! Where’s my Airbender?? I left Aang here, didn’t I? Let’s get pizza for lunch! I’ll get a Sprite, okay?” 

Rio can’t help but smile at his son’s boundless energy. He’s impressively good-natured for a second grader and tantrums are almost always short lived. He’s first to volunteer whenever anyone needs help (Marcus has made quite the name for himself among the old ladies at the grocery store, he’s always pushin’ their carts with a cheerful smile on his face), and forgives and forgets (far too easily). It’s all thanks to Rhea - he’s always tellin’ her that she’s the best mom. 

Marcus is clever, too, and he’s learnin’ how to work his natural charisma to play his parents and adults in the room to get his way. That’s a skill he gets from Rio. 

“Pizza, huh? I think we can do that. Don’t know about that soda, though.” 

* * *

The next morning, after dropping Marcus off at school with only _minor_ struggle, Rio meets up with Mick at a cafe. Mick tends to heavily fixate on particular dishes when he first learns of ‘em, and he’s been on a real _shakshuka_ kick as of late. Apparently, the one served at this cafe is especially good, because Mick’s been eating here multiple times a week. 

Rio already had breakfast (homemade acai bowls, because yeah, he’s _that_ fuckin’ guy), so he just gets himself a flat white (he allows himself an espresso every now and then, a’ight?). He takes a seat across Mick, who is enthusiastically soppin’ up tomato and egg with a piece of crusty bread. Rio doesn’t know if he’s ever looked at food the way Mick is lookin’ at his breakfast right now, and shit, he feels like he’s intrudin’ on a private moment or somethin’. 

“Enjoyin’ yourself?” he asks his friend.

Mick grins broadly, “This is fucking _good_.”

Rio takes a sip of his drink and Mick pushes his phone across the table. He motions to Rio to take a look at the screen.

“Ms. B put a hit on you.” Mick says blandly, before taking another big bite. 

Curious, Rio picks up Mick’s phone and reads the open text message. It’s from Mick’s cousin, who always seems to know everything about anything worth knowin’. Turns out he heard through a guy of a guy that someone named Fitzpatrick had it out for Rio, a hilarious job courtesy of some white, suburban Karen-type. 

Rio puts down the phone and rubs at his temple, more annoyed than angry. Because seriously, Elizabeth actually thinks _that_ shit is gonna work? 

“Already sent the guy a message, said we’d be comin’ round today to talk,” Mick says, while picking some stray egg out of his beard. 

Rio feels the tension build from his shoulders, rise through his neck, and creep up his skull. He presses against his temples, harder, once more and releases. He rolls his shoulders back and stands up.

“Then let’s go meet my executioner, yeah?” he announces wryly. 

Mick guffaws and very carefully loads the remaining contents of the bowl onto his last piece of bread. He shovels it into his mouth before any of it can fall off. Mouth full of bread and shakshuka, he eyes Rio and remarks, “That lady’s a fucking _trip_ , huh?” 

Yeah. A fuckin’ trip. 

* * *

Talkin’ to Fitzpatrick is just that - talkin’. He’s weird, man. Seems more interested in _talkin’_ about hits than actually _doin’_ ‘em. 

Mick’s cousin had sent them a bunch of information about this supposed hitman, and this guy’s work is sloppy, easy to spot because he has a particular (and terrible) _signature_ that he’s proud of for some reason. Sends ‘em over some other details that might help if he needs extra persuadin’, too. 

So, it’s easy to tell ‘im that the job is over. Ain’t no one putting a bullet in Rio, unless they want a bullet right back and by the way, how’s the family doin’? Your wife still volunteerin’ at the library fundraiser this Wednesday? Hear your daughter has a big recital comin’ up, thinkin’ we’ll stop by and support the local arts and whatnot. 

It’s low, Rio knows. He ain’t proud to bring in family and kids into this, but shit. This guy is supposedly going to kill him and Rio’s tryin’ to stay alive to at least see Marcus allowed to cross the street on his own. 

Fitzpatrick backs down immediately, and assures Rio that he had been planning on canceling the job anyway. He could tell Mrs. Boland had been hesitant, despite her repeated claims that she wanted him dead. 

Rio rolls his eyes, not sure if he’s more irritated with Elizabeth’s continued attempts to kill him, or with the way Fitzpatrick is goin’ on and on about the intricate work-life balance of a hitman, waxin’ on like he’s some sort of fuckin’ philosopher. 

He cuts Fitzpatrick off sharply, “Send her a message today. Tell her you did it. Shit, tell her my son was there to watch.”

And, okay. That’s goin’ even _lower_ . But Rio wants her to feel wrenched to her core, and he knows that mama bear instinct in her will _break_ at the thought that his child witnessed his death. 

Confusion followed by understanding pass over Fitzpatrick’s eyes. Before he gets a chance to start up yet another unwanted soliloquy, Rio gives Mick a quick nod and heads back to the car, leaving Mick to rough up Fitzpatrick.

Nothin’ too bad, but shit. That fucker was gonna try to kill him.

* * *

He drops off Mick and returns to his own apartment, waiting to hear back from Fitzpatrick. Rio flops on his couch and mindless flicks through Netflix, mostly getting a lot of cartoon suggestions, thanks to Marcus’s viewing habits.

About an hour later, the buzz of his phone lets Rio know he’s got a new text message.

It’s Fitzpatrick. He told Elizabeth he completed the job. That he thought Rio was alone in the apartment, but it turned out Marcus had been there for some reason. Must have stayed from school, and sincerest of apologies, but it is the risk one takes with this sort of thing. 

And she fuckin’ _freaked out_ , man. Fitzpatrick sends him screenshots of their text messages, and reading her frenzied messages brings a smile to his face. Her texts are riddled with typos and ALL CAPS and yeah, she’s comin’ unhinged. 

The tension he’d been carrying in his body is released, and he decides to watch an episode of _Ugly Delicious_. Let her come apart a little more, before payin’ her a visit.

Oh, _nice_. This episode’s about curry. 

* * *

He gets to her house a little after two. He figures she won’t be rushing to pick up her kids, he’s gonna assume she asks her sister to help. Based on those texts to her hired hitman, she seems absolutely wrecked. Rio chuckles to himself, as he parks a few houses back and steps out, readjusting the gun that rests in his waistband. 

So, alright. 

Let’s do this. 

He steps through the backyard as he typically does, heads up the porch. He’s only a little surprised to find the backdoor is unlocked. Quietly, he opens it and walks in.

Elizabeth is easy to find, she’s sitting on the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the railing.

Her jagged breathing is interrupted periodically by loud sniffs and gulps for air. It lets him know that - yeah. She’s been cryin’, hard. For a long time now. 

He might feel bad, if she hadn’t, you know. Planned for his murder. 

The way she’s sitting, she doesn’t see him enter and she doesn’t hear him approachin’ either. She’s wearin’ a dress, flowers all over it, and the fabric is shifted high up on her thigh. And shit, he knows that now is _not_ the time. But Rio feels his fingers itch, anyway, wanting to touch. 

He likes that part of her body. And, fair. He likes a whole lotta parts of her body. But he especially likes the particular softness of the skin there, likes grazin’ his rough fingertips along the top of her thigh, all the way up to the crease where her leg meets her hip. Likes creatin’ lazy trails up and down, and eventually lettin’ his fingers knead the inner part of her thigh. And he think she likes it, too, the way she pushed into his touch, tryin’ to twist her body in a way that would get his fingers to dip and brush up against her core, to let him know that she’s absolutely drippin’ and — 

Goddamnit. Rio berates himself for gettin’ distracted and clears his throat.

“Hey, momma.”

* * *

Rio had been ready, eager even, for her to sob or scream, or _something_. 

But he had been less prepared for her to do _nothing_. 

She had turned slowly upon hearing Rio announce himself, and just stared at him with eyes, red and puffy. 

Since she ain’t giving him much except to watch him in silence, Rio can’t help but clock the small reactions she does offer: Her eyes give a quick scan of his body - lookin’ for some evidence of bullet wounds, prob’ly. Her mouth falls open slightly and he sees her breathe in slow - wonderin’ if he’s some sort of ghostly apparition, maybe. 

It’s all a bit lackluster, to be honest. Where’s the fun in showin’ up alive in front of someone who thought you dead if they don’t even yell a little? 

She doesn’t appear to be moving from her seat on the stairs, so Rio walks over and crouches in front of her. He leans forward and allows himself to rest a hand lightly on her knee. It makes him smirk to feel her flinch when he makes contact with her bare skin. 

“What were you thinkin’, Elizabeth?” he asks, quietly, cooly. 

The thing about Elizabeth is that you can always tell when she’s schemin’ and plottin’. Or, Rio can tell, anyhow. Like when she claimed to be pregnant. Rio could basically see her constructing her story, saw her outlinin’ a plot that might earn her just a little more time. 

And shit, it was a good lie, he’ll give her that. Just good enough to get him to consider its validity, weigh the probability. Just good enough to make him think it maybe wouldn’t be the worst news if it were true (and he fuckin’ _hates_ to admit that). 

For the first time since he’s met her, she doesn’t immediately open her mouth to let whatever story she comes up with spill out. So, he takes the opportunity to keep talking.

“Here’s what I’m thinkin’,” Rio’s voice is smooth as he moves his hand to the hem of her dress. It’s still twisted high, and he can’t help himself. He slowly pulls the material down back into place - and yeah, maybe he lets his fingers drag a little over her skin - so the skirt now falls loosely over her knees. 

“I’m thinkin’… You want me dead, you do it yourself.”

The thought briefly crosses his mind that he might prove himself to be an idiot, but that doesn’t stop him from reaching behind him, pulling out his gun and placing it in her hands. He tries to wrap her fingers around the grip, but she’s not takin’ it, so he keeps his hands arounds hers, forcing her to keep a firm hold on the weapon. 

Together, they stare down at his hands, clasped over hers, clasped over his gun. 

Abruptly, Rio lets go of her hands, forcing her to carry the weight of the gun on her own, and pushes himself up into a standing position. He folds his hands over his chest. 

His voice turns sharp, rebuking her, “C’mon, Elizabeth. I’ve seen you do it before. Don’t outsource this to some third party.”

So there it is. He’s given her his gun and presented the challenge. Or forced a command. Whatever. 

Elizabeth doesn’t say anything, just lets the gun rest in her palms, but still refuses to grip it. Rio again feels a wave of annoyance rush over him, watchin’ her act like she ain’t even held a gun before. Like he didn’t spend hours that one day teachin’ her how to get comfortable handlin’ and firin’ one. Was extra patient with her, too. Like it was a fuckin’ new shooter firearm class for nice suburban mamas or somethin'. 

He’s got a mind to snatch the gun back and just shoot her to get this over with.

But she speaks before that can happen.

“Is Marcus okay?” Her voice is soft, but the pain is audible, it manages to be loud in the quiet. Matches the anguish that is easily seen in her eyes.

Rio feels his jaw tighten and the tension from earlier threatens to creep back in. He just gives a quick nod to confirm.

A breath he didn’t realize she was holding is released and he sees her shoulders relax.

“Okay,” she breathes steadily, “Okay.” 

What he doesn’t expect is for her to scoot over and motion for him to sit next to her. But _damn_ , curiosity gets the best of him when it comes to Elizabeth. Always does. Her actions and reactions never make much sense. She’s just…unexpected.

Rio moves to sit next to her on the step, their legs touching, slightly. So he widens his legs more than necessary, just to get real up in her space. Get her less comfortable, you know. 

But Elizabeth is an odd one, and she doesn’t shift her own leg away. Just kinda leans back into him, like it’s a _thing_ they do. 

And Rio has to admit he really doesn’t mind that.

Elizabeth moves the gun from one hand to the other, then back again, before placing it in Rio’s lap. 

“Was he really that terrible?”

It takes a beat before he realizes she’s asking about the idiot hitman, and okay, that makes him laugh little. The dude’s name was Fitzpatrick. Seriously? Did she really think some guy named fucking Fitzpatrick was gonna take him out? 

Rio nods, “How’d you even find him? Some Groupon give you a discount on killers?” Rio chuckles at his own terrible joke. 

“He came…recommended,” she manages to answer.

“No one kills someone like _me_ for that _cheap_ ,” he chides her as if she were a child. “And it’s fuckin’ disrespectful that _he’s_ the dumbass you picked for it.” 

It is kinda funny, though. He and Mick had a good laugh in the car about how quickly that guy had been to back down. 

Elizabeth smiles, sort of. The corners of her lips pinch up slightly and then just like that, turn back down into a frown. Rio can’t help but stare at her mouth in this moment, and he regrets sitting so damn close to her because it’s just — distractin’. 

“I’ve never been shot before,” she remarks, matter of factly. As if Rio didn’t know that already.

“Yeah,” is all he replies with, his own voice low and gravelly. 

She starts smoothing out her hair, runs her fingers through it a few times, adjusting her bangs carefully. She moves to her dress and smooths out the various creases. 

“Alright, so,” she sits up straight and looks directly at him, expectantly. Her eyes are still red, but she looks strangely settled. 

And, okay. Maybe she is a fuckin’ mastermind. Because whatever state of serenity she’s managed to put herself in is legit messing with his head. What type of daily meditation app has this bitch been listenin’ to? Why won’t she struggle _harder_ to _live_. 

Shooting her suddenly feels like a giant disappointment. 

Rio doesn’t have much time to dwell on that though, because his phone alarm starts chiming - a reminder that it’s time to pick up Marcus from his afterschool program. He’s gotta go before Marcus gets too anxious, he hates bein’ the last kid picked up. Gets all worked up like he’s been forgotten and it’s the end of the world. 

So, Rio gets up and pockets his gun. Elizabeth remains seated, but she doesn’t look any different. Just quiet and still. 

He leaves her sitting there and heads to the door. As he reaches for the doorknob, he has to ask, “Why you so calm about this, ma?”

“This couldn’t have really ended any other way, I guess.”

Mick was right. This lady’s a fuckin’ trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so it turns out the only writing i can finish right now is GG fanfic, so there’s that. and it’s possible that i wrote this because i find it oddly hilarious imagining that Rio and Mick are all about food trends??


	2. Part 2

Things remain as they are, for the most part. Business is good. Elizabeth and her girls are surprisingly dependable this time around, and he’s gotta admit - they’re more than capable. The only real difference is that Rio stops checking in on them. He doesn’t see Elizabeth for a week, then another, then nearly one more. Mick handles all pickups and drops, strolling in easily into Boland Bubbles. That guy loves checking out the latest spa accessories, anyhow. 

Rio reasons with himself that he does this because he’s the _boss_ and good leaders know how to _delegate_ the day-to-day to their subordinates, to free up their time and focus on _overall strategy_. So everything he’s doin’ now isn’t a matter of avoidin’ Elizabeth, but bein’ a smart leader. 

His reasoning comes into question, though, when one evening they are shootin’ pool and Mick asks easily, “Ey, so you want me to take care of her?”

The simple question doesn’t require additional context, Rio knows what he’s referring to.

“Nuh. I’ve got this.” 

Rio takes great pains to focus intensely on his next move, and avoids looking at Mick. Because shit, Rio’s gettin’ skeptical himself. 

* * *

He heads over to Elizabeth’s house the next day, confidently picks the lock and strides on in. For a moment, Rio considers tellin’ her she should upgrade her locks before remembering that the whole point of this visit will mean Elizabeth soon won’t be around to worry about who’s getting inside. 

She’s mopping the kitchen floors, and for some reason, seein’ her huff and puff while pushing a mop around brings a smirk to his face. He’s not tryin’ to go unnoticed today, so she spots him easily. She quickly returns the mop to the bucket, the dingy water jostles and splashes. In that strange, awkward Elizabeth way, she takes one mid-sized step away from the bucket of dirty water, and wipes her hands on her jeans before looking directly at him. 

Rio just tosses the paper bag he’s brought onto the kitchen island, and gives her a nod to let her know it’s for her.

There’s caution in her eyes, but she still picks up the bag and pulls out its contents, carefully wrapped in shiny tin foil. Wordlessly, she begins to pick at the foil. She’s frustratingly slow about it, too. Rio wonders if she thinks he’s hand delivered her some random body part, and... that wouldn’t be the worst guess. Guess he _did_ kinda set the precedence that a delivery from him could be a finger, ear, eyeball. Finally, she’s unwrapped it enough to reveal — 

“It’s a sandwich,” she says, with surprise and confusion.

“It’s a _torta_ ,” he corrects her quickly. 

And it is. Rio had stopped at his favorite taqueria and got his go-to order, torta pastor. He’s been careful not to introduce Mick to the spot, even though he’s seen how that guy can destroy a plate of tacos and this place unequivocally has the best ones in the city. The owners also make a delicious horchata. They’re generous, too, given’ free refills to their favorite customers (okay, mostly to Marcus). Last thing he needs is for Mick to obsess over this taqueria and frequent it daily for weeks on end. Rio likes this place too much to do that to ‘em. 

She stares at it, at him, and back to the torta again. 

“You’re not really a sandwich guy.” 

He shrugs. 

“It’s a torta,” he repeats, placing his hands in his pockets. 

“What are you doing here?”

And what _is_ he doing here? 

Rio knows what he _ought_ to be doing. Before he can think too much on it, he brings his hand behind him, palming the grip of his gun. 

It’s gotta be impersonal, cold. That’s what always has separated him from Elizabeth. You don’t get to be on top if you’re worried about what is right or wrong - an action is only wrong if you decide it is. He’s been responsible for deaths, sure. Has been the one to pull the trigger. Has ordered others dead, easy. It was never a matter of what was right or wrong, just what was _needed_. 

And Rio _needs_ to finish this shit. If you make a mess, then clean it up. If there’s a problem, then solve it. 

Else, you’re the one buried in the ground. 

But he’s already fucked that up. Standing here in this kitchen, sandwich small-talk, and this time hearing her ask the question that he’d previously posed to her. It’s a sloppy, unnecessary recreation of a past that he shoulda left in the _past_. 

He keeps his hand on his gun, but there’s a different itch to his fingers now. The touch of the metal suddenly feels too cold, too out of place. Like it doesn’t belong here, even though Rio knows - _he knows_ \- he’s gotta get this done _already_ , goddamnit. 

He makes no further move to pull it out. 

They face each other without speaking.

“Just no more chances to give, ma.” When Rio finally speaks, he’s surprised by how defeated he sounds. 

“I know.”

And shit, man. There she goes using that _calm_ _as_ _fuck_ voice, present and composed. 

He lets his mind drift for a beat. Imagines the wounds he’d be responsible for, where would he place them? Follow her lead with a lung, spleen, shoulder? Go for somethin’ clean and efficient, like a single shot to the head? 

When he’d been in recovery, Rio would obsessively visualize this moment over and over again. Pictured shooting her with rapid precision, pictured watching the blood rise and bubble from her mouth. Sometimes he’d picture her beggin’ to see her children one last time, tryin’ to get his sympathy by naming her children one by one. And he looked forward to laughin’ at her, remindin’ her that she showed him no courtesy when it came to him and Marcus. Other times he’d picture her cryin’ out his name, pleadin’ for forgiveness. In that scenario, Rio would always lean down, eyes dark and vicious, and gently tuck her hair behind her ears. He’d whisper, “You don’t deserve it, darlin’.”

Got so real that the smell of death would envelope him, seep into his skin. 

And so here he finally is, in _this_ moment and this time it is _real_ and _literally_ _within reach_ , but the unrelenting need to punish her, to cruelly retaliate - it’s suddenly vanished. Worse, the idea of her lying in a pool of her blood and dead by his hand suddenly _bothers_ him. 

Rio pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and shakes his head. 

He thinks he hears her call out to him, but he ignores her, opting instead to quickly walk out the door. He doesn’t look back. 

_What the fuck, man._ All he did was put his dick in her a couple times, since when did that ever _matter_. 

* * *

The next week, she’s the one to seek him out. 

It’s a Thursday night and he’s at the bar, sitting in his go-to corner spot. He’s had a few, but it’s no big deal. Just a beer to start the night, and he’s since moved onto vodka. He doesn’t often drink this much, especially not on his own. But tonight’s different, tonight he’s enjoyin’ the buzz he’s got goin’ on, likes the numbness formin’ on his lips. 

When she shows up and drops in the seat next to him, he ain’t even surprised.

The bartender looks up at her, but before she can speak, Rio’s voice is loud, “Bourbon for the lady.” 

She purses her lips together, furrows her brow, wanting to argue - he can tell. But something changes and her face relaxes, just nods in agreement. 

They sit side by side, silently, each nursing their drinks. 

_She looks good,_ he thinks to himself, not even realizing the thought was in his head until it had formed completely. 

And, she does. Hair fallin’ softly ‘round her face, curly or wavy or whatever - it’s nice, that’s all he’s sayin’. There’s a loose strand hanging next to her cheek, because there’s _always_ a loose strand, and Rio fights the urge to reach up and tuck it behind her ear. Sometimes he swears she does that intentionally, that she knows leaving a loose strand will incite an internal struggle within Rio. She’s wearin’ a dress that’s too sweet and pure for an establishment like this. It’s light blue and floral, again, because it’s always that or dots, and he hates that he remembers that. But at least it dips real low in the front, so she’s not bein’ a total prude, and yeah, he likes how easily he can see the swell of her breasts. 

Shit, it’s not like Rio’s the one who is married. 

So maybe he _does_ let his gaze rest longer than what might be considered appropriate, easily movin’ from a polite glance into what could only be defined as straight up _leering_ . He doesn’t stop starin’, even when he can tell she’s getting embarrassed, flustered. He likes that, likes how easily she blushes and especially likes how the fire spreads all over her. She might be trying her best to control her breathing, but damn, her growing blush gives her away. He watches the redness spot haphazardly across her chest, down the valley of her cleavage, and lower, lower. He wants to see _more_ , damnit.

Without meaning to, Rio’s mouth falls open slightly and he absentmindedly rubs his thumb against the itch in his fingertips. 

* * *

If someone were to eavesdrop on their conversation, they might think they were observing a first date, which is fuckin’ wild to even consider. They are on their next round of drinks, and Elizabeth is laughing, tellin’ the story of when she and her friend Ruby ate sushi for the first time just a few years ago, thinkin’ they’d be all cultured and shit. And how they flipped the fuck out because they had done zero research and were not at all prepared to find out that _sashimi_ was gonna be raw slices of fish. Rio laughs, too, because _of course_ these two ladies didn’t know what was up, and shit, it must be the alcohol, because then he voluntarily offers up some facts about himself. Tells her he thinks he could eat saba and uni sushi for the rest of his life, every day, and be content. 

Rio thinks she must be just as surprised as he is that he shared something real about himself. But she doesn’t bother to hide her smile, or the pleased look on her face. Like she gained _something_ just now. 

_Goddamnit_. He finishes the rest of his drink quickly. 

* * *

So when Elizabeth gets up and politely excuses herself to the powder room (yeah, she actually uses that terminology), Rio is pretty sure he knows where this is goin’. 

He counts eight seconds - maybe less - before gettin’ up to follow her. 

* * *

Like the first time, she’s waiting for him. 

Unlike the first time, she’s facing the door and searches for his eyes the moment he steps into the tiny bathroom. He’s thrown off, Rio expected to find her eyes in the mirror’s reflection - something about that created a more detached, surreal moment. So to find her waiting expectantly for him, to see her softly exhale when he enters is _different_. 

He locks the door behind him this time, too. 

It’s like some sort of odd choreography that they both have memorized. A mutual step forward, hands finding faces, pulling the other closer. Someone kisses first - nervous and slow, the other responds with a kiss of their own - hard and frantic. 

There’s still time for either to pull away. But when Rio slowly drags his tongue against her low lip, that’s it. She is grabbing and pulling at his shirt, his neck, every part of him, willing him closer. Rio does the same, grabbing her leg and hiking it up around him, pushing her against the wall. Dips his face into her neck, nips and sucks at her skin. Knows his mouth is already distractin’ her real good, because she lets out a surprised gasp when his other hand finds its way under her dress and yanks her panties aside, pushin’ the cotton out of the way so that his thumb can sneak in and press into her folds. 

What Rio’s learned about Elizabeth is that the one moment she’s not all loud and mouthy is during sex. It surprised him the first time, ‘cause shit, it feels like she never shuts up when she’s tryin’ to convince him to give her a higher cut of the money. 

But when he slides a finger and then two more in and out of her, workin’ her up good, feelin’ how her body responds to him, she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even moan. Just breathes loud, raspy breaths, and bites her lip, bites his shoulder, licks into his mouth.

He’s the same way, to be fair. Though Rio’s more efficient with his words when it comes to work, he has a tendency to dominate conversations in more social settings. He’s known to annoy his boys when they’re just chillin’ and watchin’ a movie by talkin’ through most of it, and shit, he’s annoyed Rhea more than once with the way he interrupts her stories to tell one of his own. But when it comes to sex, Rio forgets to talk entirely. All his energy is redirected into feeling and touching and reacting. 

So as he’s got one hand pushed up and kneading against her breast, and the other one dipping his fingers into her, coaxing and willing her to come undone, he’s not thinkin’ of much else at the moment. He’s got a singular focus now - Elizabeth, only Elizabeth only Elizabeth _only Elizabeth_.

Rio’s attention is only interrupted by the sound of his zipper getting freed, and the feel of her hand pulling him out, giving him two firm strokes before pressing his cock against her entrance.

An invitation.

Don’t need to ask him twice.

* * *

They could have been in this bathroom for fifteen minutes, or an hour. Time isn’t important now, all he knows is that he’s poundin’ into her, hard, relentless. Her head is tilted back and he’s brandin’ her neck. Her mouth is near his ear, and Rio could swear that the sound and warmth of her rough breathing is better than any obscenely loud moaning. He nearly loses it when her tongue darts out, tracing the outline of his ear before biting near the base. 

It’s when he reaches between ‘em and gives her clit some extra attention that he can tell she’s fuckin’ _close_ and Rio knows he ain’t much further behind. 

But just like that, time suddenly becomes important. 

And Rio’s focus is overwhelmed with remembering what he’s done to her, what she’s done to him, and what he should be doing _now_. 

And right now isn’t time for _this_. 

He pulls out of her without warning, tucks himself back in, feels his jaw tick. Annoyed with himself for wantin’ to be back inside her. Maybe more annoyed with himself for stoppin’ in the first place. 

If she’s irritated, she doesn’t show it. Elizabeth just straightens up and pulls her panties back in place. Composed, she wipes at the lipstick smeared across her lips, smooths out her hair, then studies him. 

Rio needs out of this bathroom, but fuck, he can’t bring himself to leave.

He doesn’t know when she started really livin’ this boss bitch life, but Elizabeth looks directly at him and leans into _his_ space. 

Rio wonders if he’ll regret not takin’ Mick up on his offer to get this shit over with. 

But then she brings a hand up to his chest.

“Let’s start again.”

Rio can hear it all, there is weight in the three quiet words she says. Start again. Begin again. He knows she’s talkin’ future shit - a successful partnership, spa fronts and washed money, expanded kingdoms, and -

And. 

And. 

And whatever this fuckin’ shit is that gets him with his jeans unzipped and cock pulled out, and her dress hiked above her ass in a shady bar bathroom that reeks of some bleach and lysol cleaning cocktail. 

Rio has been in this business long enough to know you don’t just get to restart a timeline, _there aren’t any do-overs_. 

Actions might not be right or wrong, but they _always leave a mark._

Then again, he shoulda died that day, and _didn’t_. 

So she’s onto something, maybe. 

He takes her back to his place, wanting to fuck her properly on a bed. 

They’ve got time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> are we really to believe rio doesn't like sandwiches???


End file.
